


Are you Proud of Me, Dad?

by Ky7563



Series: Me Projecting Onto Wilbur Soot [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Has Daddy Issues, Crying, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, HE DOESNT DIE IN THIS FIC THO, I Made Myself Cry, Men Crying, Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Wilbur Soot, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, no beta we die like wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ky7563/pseuds/Ky7563
Summary: "Wilbur," Phil's voice was shaky and he sounded far more alert than he had been a few minutes ago. "Where are you? Are you safe?"The words escaped before Wil could stop them, "No." He thinks he should care more about the things he's saying, but oddly enough he doesn't. His chest just feels like one big cave now and he can't bring himself to care.What the fuck is wrong with me?"O–Okay, well then tell me where you are so I can come get you—”"I'm on a bridge," he blurts out, sniffling a bit.———or; Wilbur’s about to jump off a bridge, and calls his dad to say goodbye.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: Me Projecting Onto Wilbur Soot [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141688
Comments: 12
Kudos: 207





	Are you Proud of Me, Dad?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to me projecting onto Wilbur Soot part one! In this, we shall unpack some of my ✨daddy issues✨! That’s always fun, right!... right? Anyway! Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. if the CC’s have said anything about them being uncomfortable with this, please let me know, with proof, in the comments and I will take it down immediately.

Maybe he should call someone. He doesn't expect anyone to answer— it's gotta be at least 4:00 AM by now, but he figures maybe he should as his legs dangle over the side of the bridge. It's so close. His escape is right there, he'd finally be free of the weight and the pain and the tired feeling that never really goes away. Fuck, he's so tired. But he didn't say goodbye. He should say goodbye to his family. They deserve that much. He's not selfish enough to do this without telling them how much he cares for one last time.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, speed-dialling his dad. It rings out until he hears the voicemail, _"Hey, this is Phil, I'm probably busy, but leave a message!"_ He can hear Tommy making a ruckus with Toby in the background and almost smiles. He rings again and a tired Phil picks up.

"Hello?"

He doesn't answer, just stares with dead eyes at the water, listening to his father's voice to quell the storm in his chest for just a second.

"... Wil? Why are you calling at," he hears Phil take the phone from his ear to look at the time, "4:00 AM? Are you not home?"

Wilbur took in a shaky breath and tried to answer, he did, but the air caught in his throat and the words wouldn't come out. He needed the words to come out, he needs to tell Phil that he loves him.

Phil's silent on the other end of the line, waiting for an answer to his questions. When no answer came, he said, "Wil. Where are you right now?"

"I love you so much," is what he said instead, kicking himself mentally for it immediately afterwards. That would definitely worry Phil-- why didn't he just say he was out for a walk or something?

"Wilbur," Phil's voice was shaky and he sounded far more alert than he had been a few minutes ago. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

The words escaped before Wil could stop them, "No." He thinks he should care more about the things he's saying, but oddly enough he doesn't. His chest just feels like one big cave now and he can't bring himself to care. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

"O–Okay, well then tell me where you are so I can come get you—”

"I'm on a bridge," he blurts out, sniffling a bit.

Phil's brain short-circuits. "... What are you doing on a bridge, son?" he asks stupidly.

Wilbur doesn't know how to answer that. Telling his father _"I'm going to kill myself,"_ or _"I'm gonna jump,"_ or _"I can't fucking stand being sad all the time and only finding comfort in music or the rare silence of my thoughts that I just want everything to stop forever,"_ just doesn't seem very kind.

Deciding he doesn't like any of those answers, he just whispers, "I'm so tired, dad." It's been a while since he cried— usually, he just sits in dead silence with an ache in his chest instead, but for the first time in months, tears start rolling down his cheeks. "I don't wanna be tired anymore."

“Son,” Phil starts, his voice shaky. Wilbur could hear rustling on the other end. “I love you with all my heart and I need you to stay right where you are, alright? You–You better be holding onto something.” There was the sound of a creaky door, quickly followed by a car door opening and slamming shut.

“It’s been so long since my head’s felt right, dad. I’m always tired or lonely or and just plain old feel like shit. I hardly talk to my friends anymore and even though I feel guilty about it, I can hardly bring myself to respond,” he sniffles, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. “Schoolwork is piling up to the point of crushing me because I’m too fucking stupid to understand half the shit my teachers say. I’ve always been so scared of this, but now I’m here and good God, dad, I just want it to be done. I’m so fucking done.”

For a while, all Wil could hear was the flow of water and the wind of the night and for a moment, he thought Phil had hung up. Then, “Please don’t do this, Wil. I love you. Your brothers love you. Your friends will understand. We can get you help for school, and we can get you into counselling. Son, please, there’s so much life for you to live— there are still so many things I want to show you.

“I’m so proud of you, Wilbur. I’m so proud of you for making it this far, and I know that it’s hard, but I need you to keep going. I need you to keep living so–so that I can show you the world, so you can share more of your music, so you can be happy. You _can_ be happy, my son. I promise you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Jesus, he needed to hear that. The urge is still there, he can tell from the way his heart jumps when he glances back down at the water, but... maybe. Just maybe, he could make something more out of this shithole he currently calls a mind.

He hears an engine behind him, swiftly pursued by tires screeching to a halt. He gradually pulls his gaze from the water and looks toward his father. Before he knew it, he had big, comforting arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from the edge and into a hug. Wilbur only stood there for a second, before practically collapsing into the embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around his father.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur whimpered. “I’m so sorry, dad.”

Phil only shushed him, rubbing his back in a way that only made Wil melt into him more, and told him, “It’s okay, Wilbur. It’s not your fault, it’s alright.” With a kiss on the crown of his son’s head, Phil began to lead him to the car. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there we have it! I was gonna add more to the end there to give you some more fluff, but I made myself too sad to write some happiness, so just have the pain with some light relief.


End file.
